A Lesson In Romantics
by rippingbutterflywings
Summary: Clary Fray is a Calculus-failing senior who enlists Jace Wayland's help in order to graduate. The two have been best friends since pre-school, but could one weekend without parental supervision change everything? AU. AH. OOC. One-shot.


_Hey, guys! So here's a one-shot for you as I struggle with putting together a magazine. This was inspired by random songs and a scene from the show _Scrubs_. Thanks to IWriteNaked for beta'ing, and to my friend Abby for reading it and telling me what she thought about it. Also, thanks to the rest of my squad: DeathCabForMari, spikeyhairgood, and LuckyAsLockhart. All five of you are hella rad people, and I'm glad that we're friends._

_I hope you guys like this!_

* * *

He takes a step closer, inching his face towards mine. Our eyes meet. My heart is beating as fast as a racing car, and I take another step, too. We've talked about doing this for a long time, but we've never actually done it. It just feels like the right moment, I guess. He stands with one foot inside and one foot out the door, and, when he takes another half-step, he's fully inside my home. Our lips are inches from each other, and it's as if the air has stilled all around us, as if everything that has ever existed has stopped making its noise and is waiting, patient, to see what we're gonna do.

I feel his breath on mine, and it gives me goosebumps.

I part my lips, standing my ground. We're so close to each other that I'm losing myself in it, and I struggle to remember the real reason why we're standing so close to each other. My eyes dart to his lips, which he bites. We're _so _close. Too close.

He pulls back. "God_fucking_damn it."

"Ha!" I let out a cry of victory and jump up and down. "I winnnnn!"

"I'll get you next time." He waves me off.

"Oh, I'm never letting this go." I grab him by his shirt and pull him close to me, standing up on my tiptoes just so that I can whisper in his ear, "You lost, Wayland."

"You loooove to gloat, don't you? Besides, it was unfair of me to have all the talent around here."

"It's because I'm irresistible."

"You forget that I was there when you ate paper."

"I was _five_."

"And yet you claim that you were incredibly intelligent."

"Says the guy who ate Play Doh," I mutter.

"What's that?"

"Are you gonna pretend like you didn't hear on the off chance that I might spare your fragile feelings?" I raise an eyebrow. "Because we all know that ain't happening."

"I'm an amazing person. Funny, smart, devastatingly handsome…"

"But how could you forget humble?"

"I'm the very epitome of humble."

I shake my head, following him to the kitchen. Jace Wayland has been my best friend since we were four years old. I don't remember exactly how we became friends, but I suspect that it had a lot to do with the fact that we were abnormal enough to eat paper and Play Doh. I feel like that got us into a lot of trouble. I faintly remember us standing in corners of our preschool classrooms while on timeouts, daring each other to eat weird ass objects that were definitely _not _meant to be digested.

We were gross. We were so utterly gross.

"So," I start, "this math thing isn't really that important."

"Clary," Jace says, raising an eyebrow at me. "You're failing Calculus."

"Yeah," I admit. "But so is everyone else."

He shakes his head. "You wanted me to help out, and I'm not letting you trick me into watching Netflix and napping again."

"But you know you want toooooo."

"I do. A lot. But I also want to see you graduate, just so that I can see you trip and fall when we go onstage to receive our diplomas."

"You're a douchenugget," I say, grabbing a CapriSun from the fridge. "My stuff's upstairs, so let's get to it, you idiot."

"What is it with all the harsh words today?" Sarcasm drips from his voice. There's nothing new there, of course; he is made of sarcasm.

"I just want to see if I can make the little widdle princess cry."

He sniffles in an exaggerated manner. "You're hurting my feelings, Clarissa."

"I'm always hurting your feelings; you're a pansy."

"I could very well bring up your fifth grade boyfriend again."

I whirl around, my pointed finger colliding with his chest. "I will murder you if you even utter his name."

"Ra—"

"Murder!" I screech, jabbing my finger at his chest. "_Murder_, Wayland." I give him my most menacing look and continue walking in the direction of my room.

It's a mess, as it usually is. There's clothes everywhere, empty cups on my desk, and ripped out pages from my sketchbook all around. Jace is totally used to it, though. He moves a few things around and lies down on my bed, groaning at the comfort.

"Rough day at practice today?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," he says, groaning as he shifts and changes positions. "I feel like my back might snap in half."

"I don't think that's normal."

"Pfft," he says, "I don't think _you're _normal."

"Please," I reply, my voice flat, "these comebacks are getting out of hand."

Jace rolls his eyes at me and chucks a pillow in my general direction. Of course, he misses, which is why I'm wondering how the hell he plays games in which balls are aimed at certain things.

He clears his throat to recover from that disastrous, embarrassing incident. "So where are your Calculus things?"

I make a face. "Are we really gonna do this?"

"Clary, I will do anything to watch you trip and fall down on the day of graduation."

"Just attend my graduation in the year 2030, which is when I'll finally be old enough to graduate without taking Calculus."

"That's—okay." Jace shakes his head, smiling. "Never mind. Hand me the book, your notebook, and some papers."

I give him everything he asks for and take a pen from my desk, lying down on my stomach beside him. We flip through the chapters, and he explains Calculus to me. I have to admit, one of the things that I like about Jace is how passionate about math he is. It's his favorite subject in school, and I think it's partly because everything is there. It's very black and white; there are no gray areas. I think that's the kind of thing he likes, which is why his eyes light up as he explains the different chapters I've failed to me.

Despite my slightly distracted mind, I find myself actually _learning _about Calculus. He teaches me different ways to do certain problems and helps me find tricks to make the problem solving easier. By the time five hours have gone by, it's ten p.m., and I want to die. It's so late. Oh my God, it's so late.

"I think I'm brain dead."

"I'm glad you've finally realized it," Jace fires back, a smug smile on his face.

"I walked right into that one," I mutter, reaching for my phone. I have a slight headache, but, aside from that, this hasn't been that bad.

"Did you get the stuff I taught you? Because I'm coming over tomorrow with a few quizzes to give you, so it's now or never, Fray."

"I think I got it." I look over at him. "Are you okay?"

He winces. "Backache. Headache. Lots of aches."

"Take a nap."

"It's _ten_."

"And you can't drive like this," I say, hoping to reason with him. "Let's just set an alarm for midnight, and then you can go. You have a 3 a.m. curfew, anyway."

He nods. "Let me just call my mom so she doesn't worry."

"And I'll call mine," I say. My mom and Luke are celebrating their five-year anniversary in Florida for the weekend. They left at three a.m. this morning and don't get back until Sunday afternoon, and it took a _lot _of convincing for them to leave me alone, even though I'm a perfectly capable seventeen-year-old.

Who's failing Calculus and can't cook to save her life.

Whatever. I have Jace for that.

My mom picks up after the third ring, almost as I'm about to give up on the call. "Hi," she says, radiating happiness even through the phone. "How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm okay. Just finished my math tutoring."

"Did Jace help with Calculus? And did you feed him, Clarissa?"

I'm not a very good host. "Yes and yes. I just wanted to let you know that I haven't been abducted yet."

"Yet?"

"Well, let's not rule out anything."

I can picture my mom rolling her eyes on the other end of the call. "I have to go, but I love you, okay? I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye."

I walk back to where Jace is and let him know that I've contacted my parents. He says that his mom's fine with his late arrival. The two of us go downstairs and pour ourselves tall glasses of water, take two Advils, and go back upstairs, glasses in hand. We set them down beside the stack of books on my nightstand, tuck ourselves into bed, and turn off the lights.

* * *

Holy mother of fucking shit, it's bright inside.

Strings of curses make up my train of thought as I try to avoid the way the light burns my eyelids, making me tear up. This is so not normal. When did I fall asleep? What time is it? It feels like I've been asleep for ten thousand years, actually.

I take my phone from my nightstand and look at the time. It's nine a.m. Still too early.

I set my phone back down and turn around, setting myself up in a comfortable position without opening my eyes to face the harsh, world-ending light ever again.

Something shifts on my bed, followed by a familiar groaning noise. I can't quite figure out whose it is, though; it's far too early for this shit.

"Who the fuck is in bed with me?" I ask, though it probably comes out muffled and not at all threatening.

Another groan comes from that side, and the person shifts again.

"If you make me open my eyes, I will murder you."

Another groan.

Maybe I can just go back to sleep without letting this bother me. I mean, it has to be someone I know and trust, because I let them into my bedroom.

Unless I somehow got drugged at the party I _definitely _didn't attend last night and am in bed with the guy who raped me.

But nope. I'm not naked. I feel the familiar fabric of my jeans and sweater, the same ones that I wore to school yesterday.

Wait.

To school.

_Yesterday_.

It's Saturday. That much I know. But I was tutoring with Jace yesterday, which means that there's only one more person who could be in bed next to me right now.

I spring up, ignoring the throbbing of my head. "Jace!" I let out, letting my pitch reach an octave or two higher. "Get up, get up, get up! Shit! Fuck! Damn! _Wayland_!"

"Whaaaaat?"

"Jonathan, it's nine."

"Nine?"

"In the morning."

"So?"

"So you were kind of supposed to be home _six hours ago_."

His sudden movements mimic my earlier ones, and he's standing upright, checking his phone and letting out a string of curses that rivals my earlier one. He calls his mom, who picks up in hysterics. Oh my God, I'm never gonna see my best friend again. He's gonna be so grounded that the only chance I might run into him again is when we're in our seventies or eighties and dying and we're placed in the same nursing home. Oh my _God_. I'm gonna die.

I pace back and forth, trying to figure out how the frick frack we ended up falling asleep _without _ever actually waking up. We did everything. We took our Advils, had everything set up—

The alarm.

We forgot to set up the fucking alarm.

I mean, that's my safest bet, anyway. I thought that Jace was the one who had to set up the alarm, but he clearly didn't set it up, because he didn't wake up. So. We're gonna die.

He comes into my room a few moments later. "My mom's a little...mad," he says. "Mostly worried, though. I'm gonna try and see if I can come back later to quiz you and stuff."

"Fun," I say unenthusiastically. "Let me walk you out."

He puts on his shoes and grabs his jacket. We're working fast, so I toss him an apple from the kitchen. It seems that he's got his mojo back or whatever, because he catches it without batting an eye.

"I'll text you," he tells me, waving his hand before going out the door.

I lock the door and set up the alarm again. Once I'm in my bedroom, the adrenaline rush dies away, and I realize that I'm actually _really _fucking tired.

* * *

When I wake up again, it's almost one o'clock, and I have a missed call from my mom and three texts from Jace.

I respond to the former first, but via text. _Hey, Mom! I was up until late last night, so I slept in. I'm okay, so call me when you can. :) _

I read Jace's texts after.

_I'm not grounded!_

_I'm going over to ur house at 3 because I have practice from 12 to 2. Kill me. _

_Be ready to do some Calculus! I also have a surprise for you. _

I know that he's in the middle of practice, but I can't help but text him back. _Okay! And WHAT'S THE SURPRISE, WAYLAND?!_

It's not a secret that I despise surprises, which is why this is so infuriating. I try to distract myself by making myself some scrambled eggs. After eating, I take a shower, staying under the warm water a little longer than usual. I change into some yoga pants and a sweater, and, by the time it's three, I'm totally ready for this whole Calculus thing. I even cleaned up my room, though that wasn't very well done, and it was also mainly a distraction from the fact that there's something I don't know about coming my way.

What the hell could the surprise be, anyway? I don't have to pass Calculus to graduate? I got into my top choice school with a huge scholarship? Chris Pratt is in love with me?

When he comes into my house, I all but pounce on him, begging him to tell me what the frick frack snick snack he's been hiding from me.

"In a sec," he says, ruffling my hair. I glare at him, locking the door and setting the alarm again. "You'll like this."

"Is it food?"

"Nope."

We walk towards my room. "Is it the answers to the next Calculus test?"

"If only," Jace says, shaking his head.

"What iiiiis iiiiiiit?" I close my door and tug on his shirt, forcing him to look at me. I make my best pouty face. "Tell meeee."

He reaches into his bag and takes something out. I raise my eyebrows and look up at him upon seeing the large bottle of Smirnoff vodka he brought with him.

"I know you've been stressed," he says, "and I know that you've been talking about wanting to get drunk with me, and I thought that this was a perfect opportunity. Your parents don't get home until late tomorrow, so there'll be plenty of time to take care of the aftermath, and I can make awesome drinks."

I could kiss his stupidly beautiful face, but that'd be weird. "This was decent of you."

"Decent?!"

"Relax," I say, giving him a smile. "Thanks for doing this, Wayland."

"There's only one condition," he tells me, moving the bottle so that it's out of my reach.

I frown. "What is it?"

Jace gives me a wicked smile as he takes out a stack of papers from his bag. "You have to pass all of the practice exams with at least a C."

I glare at him. "Damn you to hell."

He grins. "Grab a pencil and let's get started."

For three hours, I do Calculus practice tests, anxiously biting my lips as I wonder if I'm passing them at all. It's not just because he's using alcohol and stuff as an incentive, but also because there's the possibility that I might not graduate if I keep doing as badly as I have been throughout the semester. It's something that I joke about, but only because it actually _matters _to me. I want to go to college and do the things normal people do when they finally get through their last year of high school. I don't wanna stay behind and do everything all over again, which is looking like a very real possibility right now, seeing as I'm actually _failing _Calculus.

This is one thing I'll admit to myself: I'm prideful as shit. It's why it took me almost four months to man up and tell Jace that I'm failing. By this point, if I don't do amazingly well on the next few quizzes and tests, I'm not graduating.

The mere thought scares me half to death.

I don't let it paralyze me entirely, though. I use it as an incentive. If I let this scare me too much right now, I'll just start freaking out about Calculus without actually finishing the practice tests that will help me determine how I'm doing. And I won't know how much work there needs to be done unless I know how I'm doing. It's a vicious cycle, but I have to follow it if I want to graduate this year.

Which, believe me, I do. More than anything in the entire history of the universe.

When I finish my last practice test, I tell Jace that I have to go pee, hurrying off to the bathroom with my phone in hand. I lock the door, sit down on the toilet, and take a deep breath. I do have to pee, but I also have to calm down first. It's gonna be fine. I mean, I can pass effing Calculus. I can do it. Totally.

After I pee and wash my hands, I come out of the bathroom to find Jace waiting for me. His eyes follow me as I stand by the foot of the bed.

"So I corrected your practice exams," Jace says, sounding very serious.

Fuck.

Frick on a stick.

I'm dead.

"You passed all of them with Bs." He grins and stands up. "You're fine, Clary. You're gonna pass the class. Keep reviewing a little every day, doing stuff like this, completing your homework, and you might pull it up to a C, seeing as you have a high F right now."

"Oh my God," I whisper, meeting his eyes. "I'm gonna graduate."

"Fortunately, yes."

Before either one of us can fully process what's happening, I jump up and wrap my arms around him, pulling him close to me. First off, without him, I wouldn't be graduating right now. Not just because of the whole Calculus thing, although that has played a huge part in this whole thing, but also because he's been there for me when no one else has. He's seen me at my lowest of lows and has stuck around anyway, always ready to help me out. Sure, he's an ass, but he's a great friend, too.

Not that I would ever tell him that.

"Let's get _wasted_."

"Okay." Jace laughs. "Some ground rules first."

"What's up?"

"You have to eat as you drink. Also, drink water, too. And no going out." He points his finger at me. "No matter how much you wanna do it."

I nod. "You've got it."

"Let's go set up in the kitchen, because my drinks are about to kill you in the best way."

"Is there a good way to die?"

"You, my friend, are about to experience it."

I roll my eyes as I follow him into the kitchen, a pleased smile on my face. I did it! I actually did it. And now I'm getting my super awesome reward.

But I have to call my mom first.

"I was just about to call you," she says as a way of greeting. "How are you?"

"Studying Calculus," I lie. "How about you? How's Florida?"

"Sunny and humid, but amazing nonetheless. I don't wanna go home."

"I don't want you to." I make sure to keep my tone light. "So you're having fun?"

"Tons of it. I really needed this weekend. How's the Calculus thing going, though?"

"I'm doing really well on my practice tests. Jace says I have a super good chance of passing if I keep it up."

"Then keep it up, sweetie. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom." I roll my eyes as Jace raids my pantry. "I have to go back to studying, but call me before you leave Florida tomorrow, okay?"

"Of course. You and Jace are still picking me up, right?"

"Yup. See you tomorrow."

After we say our goodbyes, Jace begins telling me about the drinks he's gonna make. He's gonna start us off with a shot, and then he's making mojitos, sangrias, and other drinks like that. He's mostly just gonna do shots and take the lime-flavored drinks, leaving me with the rest of the stuff. I don't know. I don't really know what he drinks, but I _do _know that I'm glad he took me grocery shopping on Thursday, using the excuse that I needed to stock up on what I love to eat so that I could survive this weekend by myself.

Of course, it's important to note that I know about drinks. Ish. And I've _had _drinks before. I've gotten tipsy once or twice before, but I've never gotten _drunk_. I never really planned on it, not until I realized that it's a lot better to get drunk with your best friend in the safety of your home than it is at a party with potential rapists.

I'm comforted by the fact that Jace has had _tons _of opportunities to rape me, and yet has decided not to do it. Not that I didn't trust him before, but I have to solidify my trust, because you never know. It's pretty much what makes him the perfect contender. That, and he makes amazing drinks.

By the time we have our drinks ready, we take them to the couch, where we've set up Netflix. This is gonna be totally harmless. We're gonna get drunk, watch some TV, and play some video games.

We go with the video games first, actually. I totally beat his ass playing Mario Kart, and he yells out more curse words than I know, probably. By the time I've drank half of my second mojito in the span of half an hour with only having eaten a few handfuls of popcorn and a couple of chips, I think I'm feeling ready to loosen up. We switch to a zombie game. It's a game where your choices affect how things go, and I think it's for _The Walking Dead_, so Jace watches me play, amused at my curses and frustrations. And also at my choices.

"You're so mean," he says after I choose to tell the little girl, Clementine, that her parents are never coming back.

By the time I've moved on from my second mojito to my first sangria, we're watching the pilot of _Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt _and laughing at the plot. I alternate between ice cold water, sangria, and popcorn, trying to follow Jace's advice so that my hangover isn't too terrible. We decide to watch _Clue _after watching three episodes of _Kimmy Schmidt, _and, when we're bored of the movie, we alternate between _Parks and Recreation _and _The Office_, and I'm not sure if I'm drunk from laughing or from the alcohol.

(It's from the alcohol.)

* * *

We stumble into my bedroom, hanging onto each other due to our inability to walk without support. I honestly don't know how we haven't fallen, seeing as we're both in the same inebriated state, but we make it into my room safely. I close the door, and the two of us crawl into bed.

We're not falling asleep yet, though. Jace and I both brought water bottles with us, because he said that we have to drink as much water as we can before we pass out. It's for the hangover, he said earlier. I think. I don't know. I can't remember a lot of things right now.

I take a sip of my water, well aware of the fact that I'm woozy as all hell. I look up at Jace and give him a goofy smile, poking him in the shoulder. "Hey, Jace?"

He looks at me and returns the smile. "What's up?"

"Thanks for getting me drunk. You're the bomb dot com."

As if he can't help himself, Jace lets out a laugh. "You're welcome, Fray."

"You make badass drinks."

"I told you so."

I readjust myself so that my head is resting on his shoulder as we lie down. "We should do this again."

"Mhmm," he says, absently stroking my hair. I don't find it weird; in fact, it makes me more sleepy, and I snuggle up more against him, craving the warmth he radiates.

We stay there like that, just breathing and occasionally taking sips of water. I make shapes on his shirt, where his chest is. For some reason, I can't fall asleep, even though my eyelids are closing and I feel like I'm gonna die of exhaustion. My head's beginning to hurt, but I'm still awake. Here. Breathing. With Jace.

"Hey," Jace whispers. "Are you awake?"

"Yup."

"Can I tell you something?"

I lift my head up, my eyes meeting his. "What?"

"You know when we play chicken with our mouths?"

I smile at the memory. "Mhmm."

"I always wanna kiss you, which is why I'm always the first to lose."

I frown. "Jace, that makes no sense."

He positions himself at a different angle, shifting around before finding a comfortable position. The silence is thick now, no longer peaceful and uncharged. My heart is racing at the possible meanings behind his words.

"If I kiss you," he tells me, biting his lower lip for a split second before continuing, "I'll never stop."

And, well, right now, that's pretty much all it takes.

I don't know when I realized that I wanted to kiss Jace about as badly as a cancer patient wants a cure for their condition, but I find myself reaching over and kissing him. It's sloppy and awkwardly-angled, but we're drunk, and I haven't kissed a guy since I was ten, so I'm kind of not the best at it, I don't think. Jace makes a noise of surprise before grabbing the back of my neck and gently pulling me closer. I decide that the distance can go fuck itself and sit on his lap, my legs on either side of his.

I'm not thinking of a lot. It's partly due to the alcohol, not gonna lie, but also because I never imagined that kissing someone who ate Play Doh as a kid and whose poop I've seen could actually feel this good. Not to sound like a protagonist in a cheesy romance movie or novel or whatever, but this kind of feels magical, like it was meant to happen all along.

I'm gonna regret it so hard in the morning.

But, right now, I'm lost in the way he feels against my skin. When our shirts ride up and our skins touch, I die a little bit. In the best way. Oh my God, I could kiss him forever.

In one of the many times that we've come up for breath in the past five minutes, Jace places a hand on my chest—on one of my boobs, actually—and says, "Hold up."

"What?"

"I didn't bring a condom."

"Aiming for a home run would be a terrible idea, Wayland, so shut up and keep kissing me."

So we kiss until our lips are swollen and we're drunk on two things rather than one, and then we pass out, my head resting safely on his chest.

* * *

My head is pounding, and the glaring light inside my room is _not _helping. In fact, it's making bile rise up in my throat right about now.

I rush to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet just in time for everything to make its way out of my body. I want to die at how gross this is, but I just flush the toilet, brush my teeth, and make my way back outside, shutting the blinds before climbing back into bed.

My phone says it's almost noon. When did I go to sleep last night? Midnight? One? That means I've slept "more than enough time" (Mom's words, as per usual), which means that I _should _be feeling better, but all I feel is sick and shitty and ready to die.

Thankfully, I don't throw up again. I look over at Jace. I faintly recall us falling asleep together, which is nice. I smile, watching him sleep. I should wake him up. He _did _ask permission to stay over this time, thank God, but I still don't want him getting home too late. I reach over to poke him on the shoulder, and then the memories hit me all at once.

Oh my God.

Ohhhhhh.

My.

_GOD_.

Nononononononono.

No.

Nope.

Frick on a stick.

Nope.

I stand up so fast that I feel bile rising up again, but I unscrew the cap from my water bottle and drink until I feel better. Oh my God. Oh my God, this is the stupidest thing I've ever done—and that's a lot to say, because I've done a _lot _of stupid things.

But this is the stupidest.

By _far _the stupidest.

I have to wake him up, though. It's almost one p.m., and we need to pick up Luke and my mom at five. We still have to take a shower, clean the house, eat, and get rid of all the alcohol evidence. And then clean some more, just to make sure.

Hesitantly, I reach over to where he lies and poke him. I manage to move his shoulder a little bit, but he's a heavy sleeper when he's drunk, I guess.

"Jace," I whisper, not daring to be too loud. "Jaceeeeeeeee."

He lets out a groan and rolls over to the other side. Exhausted, I walk over to his side and kneel down beside the bed, which isn't really that tall. I poke him again, more forcefully this time.

"Jonathan Christopher Wayland!" I make my voice stronger when I use his full name. "Wake the eff up."

"Curse like a real person," he mumbles. It sounds more like _curh luh a ruhl puhrson _because his voice is muffled by the layers of bedsheets he's hidden under.

"Jace, we have to clean. And shower. And get dressed again. And clean more. And eat. And _pick up my parents_."

He sighs and rubs his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost one."

"Holy fuck," he says, sitting up. He winces at the sudden movements and rubs his forehead. "Fuck."

"Here." I hand him a water bottle. I'm scared of looking at him, but I also can't _not _look at him. I don't know how the hell I went from liking him as a friend to wanting to screw his brains out and also cuddle, but it's happening. Yup. I turn away to hide the blush that's creeping up on my cheeks. "I'll shower first."

"Good idea," he tells me. "You do that."

"But you have to make breakfast. Nothing too heavy, though, 'cause I threw up."

Jace groans again. "I hate you."

I bite my tongue in order to prevent the words _that's not how it seemed last night _from coming out. "Whatever, Wayland," is my lame-ass reply. I gather my things and head for the bathroom, mortification coursing through me.

I shower slowly, almost falling asleep in the shower about a billion times. The warm water feels nice, as always. And, well, hiding from Jace also feels undeniably good.

Eventually, though, I have to exit the bathroom. I get ready, blow-dry my hair, and make my way downstairs. Jace has made pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries. God bless the shit out of him.

We watch _Parks and Recreation _while eating, neither one of us saying anything about last night. We only speak when we have something to say about the show. It's not that it's awkward—at least not entirely, anyway—but it's more like we're trying to preserve something that we might not have once we start talking about last night.

"So," he says, "do you remember last night well?"

_Fuck_. "Yup. You?"

"For the most part, yeah."

That piques my interest, and I find myself asking what I'm wondering before I can stop myself. "Do you remember us making out?"

"Yup."

"Oh."

I sit cross-legged on the couch, eating my pancakes.

He looks over at me. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I said some things."

"You did some things, too," I mutter.

He rolls his eyes. "I just wanna know if we're cool."

"Yeah," I say, a million little things running through my mind, all of which I can't say. "We're cool."

We spend the rest of the time left cleaning and getting ready. We clean until everything is spotless, until I can pretty much eat off the floors and everything. This is a chance to get my parents to trust me, and also a chance to make sure that every single piece of evidence of everything that happened is gone. And, well, we used a lot of things last night, so we threw everything out just to be safe. Including the limes we used for the mojto.

We're being super careful.

Mom texted me at two p.m. that she was boarding her flight, which means that it's on time. By the time five o'clock rolls around, we're getting in the car, and everything's ready to go. I don't drive—yay for being too lazy to get my license!—but Jace got this car when he turned sixteen, and he's been driving it ever since.

On our way over to the airport, which is half an hour away from my home, I start thinking about how long Jace and I have been friends. Honestly, it's been forever. I can't remember a time when we weren't friends. It's like all of memories begin when he came into my life. I remember being little and daring him to eat paper, and I remember watching him cry when I called him a sissy for not doing it. I got the corner that day. And then, in kindergarten, I remember that my mom was our teacher, and she'd make cool things, like crowns, and sometimes he'd take them and wear them. He said they belonged to him, and I'd basically be like, "Fuck you. This is _my _crown. _My _mom made it." Except I didn't say _fuck you_, because I was a decent five-year-old.

We used to fight a lot.

Still, we never _hated _each other. We envied each other. We fought a lot. He was a greedy fucker, but so was I. And I was—and still am—mean.

But he wouldn't have it any other way, because he knows that, even though I tease him and stuff, I love him like I've never loved anyone else.

I wonder, though, if I mixed up _love _love with the kind of love you feel for your best friend. I don't think I ever did, but I definitely don't make out with all of my friends, so there's that to consider. There's no denying that it's more than a one-time thing, but I don't know how to tell him that I want more. That it wasn't just because I was woozy and drunk and too happy to care.

Try telling _that _to the guy who dared you to pee in a public pool when you were five.

Luke and Mom wave their arms when they see the familiar gray car pull up. They get their stuff into the trunk and climb into the backseat, all hugs and cheek kisses and stories about late Florida nights and the hot air and the nice beaches. I'm grateful for the distraction, even though the thought of Jace lingers in the back of my mind, reminding me that it might never leave.

It's like a parasyte. Gross.

Jace drops us off at home and says that he'll be back in the morning to pick me up for school. I wave at him in the most awkward way ever and watch him drive off. My parents and I go inside, and they seem pleased at how clean and orderly everything is. They tell me that they're gonna nap, and I tell them that I'm gonna study (but I'm gonna nap, obviously), and then we go our separate ways.

* * *

In the morning, I'm a mess.

I'm a little nervous. I mean, here I am, getting ready to go to school with my best friend, as I usually do every morning, except it's not the same, because _I fucking made out with my best friend while drunk on Saturday night_. Oh my God, I hate the choices I make.

Except I don't totally hate them, because that makeout session was glorious. Could it have ramifications in regards to my lifelong relationship with Jace? Yes. Was it pleasing to me? Yes. So, in the end, do the pros balance out with the cons?

Hell.

Freaking.

Yes.

I've decided that fake confidence is the way to go. After all, it's not like I did anything _wrong_, per se. I mean, sure, okay, making out with your best friend is, like, technically never the best idea ever, but it's not outright _wrong_. So, like, whatever. I got this. I eat some fruit downstairs and try not to freak out too much, but I keep playing around with my phone and trying to find things to distract me in places where there are none.

I get Jace's _I'm here _text and take my bag, swallow my nerves, turn off the alarm, and walk out the door.

He's standing outside of his car as if he's been waiting there for a while and needs to say something. I don't know. His arms are crossed, and his head snaps up when he sees me walk towards him. I give him a questioning look, shoving my phone into the pocket of my hoodie. Actually, this might be an old hoodie of his.

"Before you say anything," Jace begins, holding a finger up, "I think we need to talk about Saturday night."

"Okay…" I trail off, unsure as to where this is going. If my parents weren't passed the fuck out, I'd be nervous, but they don't work until ten a.m.

"Look, the things that I said…" He lets the words hang in the air for a second before shaking his head. He's struggling to come up with the right words, as it often happens with serious things. "I meant all of them. I know that it's this totally different thing, and that we've been best friends since I ate Play Doh and you ate paper and you stole my crown—"

"It was my crown," I interrupt. "But go on."

Jace rolls his eyes. "But this doesn't have to change the fact that we're best friends. I've never wanted a relationship with someone, and I think that's because I didn't know them half as much as I know you. You _get _me, Clary, and you don't start shit with me for no reason, and you've seen my poop, and you've seen me when I had lice. I don't know when I realized that I liked you, but I do, and I don't regret anything."

"Well, I—" This time, I'm the one struggling. "I don't regret anything, either."

"You don't?"

I shake my head. "How could I?" I let out a sigh. "Look, before last night, I didn't know that I could see you as more than the best friend you were—_are_—to me. But I guess I've always thought you were attractive, and I've always told girls that they'd be lucky to date you, and I guess that part of me has always thought that you'd be good. I just didn't realize until right now. Or, well, when I was on top of you on Saturday."

He grins. "So we get to make out more?"

"A lot more. But you have to buy me dinner first."

He checks his phone. "Well, we're about twenty minutes early, so how about we start with coffee?"

"Coffee sounds perfect."

* * *

_Let me know what you think! xo_


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